The Fireman and the Rider
by ZeroGravityDog
Summary: (Pre FE9) The man was drowning in grief, guilt, sorrow. Perhaps that is what made the fireman pause. Perhaps that is what made the assassin think. Perhaps that is what made Volke reply. "Become someone my skill can handle."


Man, it's been forever since I've prowled Fire Emblem!

And amazingly enough, a story not centered around Fates.

On to the disclaimer!

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, **except** the character Bellboy, another assassin. He's not incredibly important, just a brief appearance for the story to proceed.

* * *

The Fireman and the Rider

Sum: Pre FE9 The man was drowning in grief, guilt, sorrow. Perhaps that is what made the fireman pause. Perhaps that is what made the assassin think. Perhaps that is what made Volke reply. "Become someone my skill can handle."

~ ~ ~ . ~ ~ ~

"Hey." A voice called.

Volke glanced up from the stack of papers, detailing the latest political turmoil in Daein, Begnion, and Crimea to see a man garbed in greens and grays. The fireman set the papers down.

"There's a man asking for you, down at the Horsefoot Inn."

He nodded at the other who gave a humorous smile. "What, no thanks?"

"Five hundred."

The other laughed, "Yeah, yeah. You'll thank me one of these days, Fireman free of charge."

Volke let a slight smile escape. "Not likely Bellboy." He left before the other assassin could spot the humorous grin. He knew Bellboy could pay it, but chose not to.

To each his own.

The trek to his destination was done in a few candle marks. He counted his client lucky he was in the area, otherwise the wait time would've been longer.

With a fee.

He barely looked at the building as he stepped inside.

The Horsefoot Inn wasn't anything spectacular; nestled somewhere in the back of the town. It showed its age but the rooms were clean, the ale strong, and the fire warm.

However, the Bull and Panther was far more popular. It was larger and more prominent, with its location closer to the entrance of the town; enticing weary travelers first.

But that's what made the Horsefoot Inn perfect for assassin's to meet clients. It was farther away from traffic, smaller in size, and it was one of the few select inns that lent the assassin's the use of the rooms and turn a blind eye to their deeds.

The owner nodded towards one of the tables. The fireman barely nodded in acknowledgement, muttering an order for a drink as he passed by. Volke hummed as he advanced towards the table, tucked between the large fireplace and the wall. His client wasn't there, and he wondered what kind of client had called upon him. He settled himself in the chair at such an angle to view the entire room. Volke fingered his pipe, tucked safely in his belt. He hadn't been summoned in a while and from the papers he'd read, it was due to the sudden silence from Daein. Bengion activity had been normal, and Crimea had been low, as usual

Volke felt it was more a calm before a storm rather than true peace. The pipe came out, and in one fluid motion, he'd stuffed tobacco into it with his free hand. Bengion was too wrapped up in itself, and Crimea was trying to mend wounds with the laguz with its exchange program. Trying. He'd heard from the upper classes they were hoping for peace, where as the common folk openly discussed their distaste of the laguz. Ramon, the current ruler of Crimea, was doing what he could to lead the two countries to peace. He was curious as to how the events would unfold.

Volke took a slow puff, savoring the taste and then releasing the smoke. A barmaid set his tankard of ale on the table without acknowledging him. That suited him just fine. He took a few more breathes and then a swing from his drink, eyes sweeping the other residents. A man came down the stairs. He was solidly built and held himself tall, confidently. Volke watched as the newcomer headed towards the inn keeper, spoke a few words, and then turned to him.

This man was his client.

The man closed the distance between them slowly, studying Volke. Likewise, he was studying his client, noting the way he walked was reminiscent of a defeated man. The man's face was also familiar.

The man sat down in the chair opposite, his dark eyes staring into Volke's.

Eventually, he spoke. "You're the fireman?" His voice was gravelly and sorrowful, but there was an unmistaken tone of defiance. This man had seen a lot and refused to drown in it.

"Yes."

He nodded. "I'm Greil. I understand that you will take any contract."

Volke waited.

"I need you to take mine." There was a strong tone of conviction.

Something clicked in Volke's mind and he wondered what circumstances brought **this** man to him. "...I've no current contract. What is it?" He took a puff from his pipe.

"I...If I am ever to go berserk, kill me."

Volke leaned back, the smoke hovering between them. "No."

He could see confusion and fear mixed with sorrow.

"May I ask why?"

The fireman pulled his pipe out, pointing the mouth piece at his potential client. "Do not take me for a fool. I know about you, Sir Gawain. Your skill with the sword is well known. There is no one in Tellius that has not heard of your superb swordplay." Volke replaced his pipe in his mouth, inhaling then exhaling. "You're beyond my limit." He eyed the other, seeing Gawain struggle to say something. Deciding to end it, the assassin stood up, gliding away from the former Daien Rider. He'd made it only a foot away from the other, backs facing one another when Gawain spoke.

"Is there some way for you to reconsider?"

Volke paused. _A way?_

The man was drowning in grief, guilt, sorrow. Perhaps that is what made the fireman pause. Perhaps that is what made the assassin think. Perhaps that is what made Volke reply. "Become someone my skill can handle."

~ ~ ~ . ~ ~ ~

Greil sighed, heavily. Mist and Ike were sound asleep, exhausted thanks to romping around with the innkeeper's own children. A melancholy smile appeared on his face but then it vanished. He settled in front of the fireplace in the main room. The innkeeper let him linger through the night so long as the fire was tended to. The former Daein Rider grabbed the poker and turned towards the small fireplace. The fire had died out a while ago, leaving glowing ashes. He pushed the remains around, watching as small sparks flittered in the air, winking out before touching the ground. Greil placed the poker against the fireplace, before grabbing a chair from the table to sit in. It groaned in protest, but held. He stared into the dying embers.

" _ **Become someone my skill can handle."**_

The assassin's words ran around and around in his mind.

"Someone he can handle..." the former Daein Rider looked hopelessly at his hands. What could he do to prevent the slaughter, the tragedy, from occurring again?

What the assassin spoke was true. His skill, his strength was nearly unmatched. Was he a fool to believe that an assassin could take him?

Greil sighed heavily, cradling his head in his hands. _Elena...what can I do?_ The man wept quietly, time passed unnoticed by him. He wiped the last remnants of tears from his face, his fingers brushing against the beginnings of a beard. Through blurry eyes, the former Daein Rider gazed at his hands, seeing the callous marks, seeing blood, seeing another set of hands delicate and warm, seeing a well known sword.

" _ **Become someone my skill can handle."**_

Greil knew what he had to do.

~ ~ ~ . ~ ~ ~

Two nights passed, and Volke found himself before Gawain again. He was surprised the Daein Rider reach out to him again, and even more surprised he'd agreed to meet once more.

This time they were in a secluded room, hosted above the Horsefoot Inn, in a vacant room.

"Gawain."

"Fireman."

Volke almost quirked a smile at that.

"My contract still stands."

"As does my requirements." He narrowed his eyes just a little. "Unless something changes, then your contract will remain unfulfilled."

"Yes, I know." The former Daein Rider replied. "I thought about what you said. Becoming someone you can handle." He paused. "When I asked for the best, you're name came up. And I will need the best to keep me from harming others."

 _Harming others…so that's what this is about._ Volke crossed his arms. _What happened, Gawain? You were a power beyond compare for years and then you just vanished. Now, this new name...a new life...is your past catching up?_

"But...you're right. With the way I am now even the best assassin would have difficulty taking my life."

Volke frowned, his instinct telling him something wasn't right.

And then it happened. Gawain pulled out a knife and slit his right forearm. He hissed, falling to the ground, knife forgotten as it clattered to the floor.

He reacted quickly, though in his mind he knew it was useless. He kicked the small weapon away and knelt in front of the former Daein Rider.

The cut had been accurate, the tendons were severed and no amount of healing would help. Volke pulled out a small container of vulnerary cream and one of his bottles of the liquid version. Using his teeth he pulled the cork out before pouring some of the fluid on the wound. Gawain hissed at the contact, but didn't jerk away. He continued to empty the container, at a slower pace to allow the medicine time to heal.

Volke pocketed the bottle away, its contents spent. He turned Gawain's arm around, eyes evaluating the wound. It was no longer bleeding. He grabbed the cream and smeared it on the cut. _What in Ashera's name would make a man go so far…?_ When Volke looked at the man, he saw the former Daein Rider watching him with calculating and trusting eyes. The assassin shied away from the other's gaze, focusing on tending the cut. He pulled out some clean cloth to seal the cream onto the cut. Once Gawain's arm had been wrapped Volke leaned back.

"I will accept on one condition. I want to know everything about...this." He waved a hand at the wound.

Volke didn't miss the relief in the man's eyes. Gawain muttered to himself, a tired smile on his face. "Good...Yes, I will tell you what you want to know. I planned on it when you accepted my contract."

Again, the faith the man had in him was unnerving. "You'll see me within the week to collect the first payment and discuss the finer details." The fireman said.

Gawain hesitated. "I may not be here within the week."

"Not a problem."

Gawain slowly nodded, and gave a breathless laugh. "Right, right. I'll see you in a week."

Volke stood up and left without a second glance.

* * *

And there you go, my take on how Volke and Greil met.

I was poking around some of my old documents and found this partially completed. It remained me a bit of my other story with Volke 'All That Remains'.

Anyway, have a good weekend!

ZeroGravityDog is out!


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